


The Human Condition

by SirLadySketch



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Elves dealing with crappy human suggestions, F/M, Gifting the Mourning Halla, Just Elf Things...., Remli responds to War Table options and is not happy, Sometimes I really wish they did more with the war table in terms of cultural sensitivity....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 10:33:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10852191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirLadySketch/pseuds/SirLadySketch
Summary: She liked her advisors, she really did. But sometimes they could just be so, so… human.Remli’s response to the War Table mission, “Bestow the MourningHalla.” Post Wicked Hearts, still romancing the Egg.





	The Human Condition

Reports were coming in left and right, and it was quickly becoming more and more apparent that once again, he’d made a grave error of judgement, and he would have to readjust his plans. That he would have to admit that he’d been in the wrong about this world once again—fatally so.

Felassan had been right.

Solas had met Briala in person while attending the ball with the Inquisitor, and watched as the slip of a woman held her own in the human court—coming out on top, even, although much of that was Remli deciding to underplay that bit of blackmail when the time came to hold up the cards. And it was true, the elven woman had terrible taste in romantic partners… but her ability to plan for the night, to set up _so many_ perimeter guards with such meager resource. She had great potential.

The agent in the field seemed equally impressed—no small feat, given this particular agent was a wandering Dalish apostate with no little love for city elves. Solas picked up the man’s most recent missive, delivered in the night and tucked into a text on Orlesian poetry:

“ _Papillon continues to flutter from flower to flower, looking for an open bud. She has asked the bees for help, and although they have been unable to peel away the petals, they supply her with other sources of sustenance. It may be more efficient to simply allow a few flowers to open, and watch what happens, if only to see where she will alight next. A predator may wish to take note; Papillon may be akin to the reigning monarch—if eaten, found poisonous. ~L”_

He sighed, rubbing his temple and debating the folly of it. She was resourceful, the Red Jennies would certainly be a valuable network of supplies and information, even if they lacked access to the eluvians. That she was still attempting to regain entry was intriguing—she’d had them for months, but had done nothing of significance when she walked those ancient halls. What was it she hoped to gain in reentering the crossroads? Did she actually have a plan of action, or was she simply trying to regain control of them out of spite?

Perhaps it was not Fen’Harel, but Felassan whom she resembled.

If _that_ was true… he would need to think of what he was to do with her, one way or another, and soon. The agent was in a good position to make contact, but until he knew exactly what to do with her, the agent was simply watching and reporting. A waste of a good mage and healer, but there were no better roles for him at the moment.

Pushing thoughts of the agent aside, Solas shuffled through his papers to another report, this one investigating naval activities out on the Waking Sea and rumors of strange excursions. There was a sketch within the letter, a rough etching of strange tracks found along the beach. He vaguely recalled seeing something like that in a previous report from the north, and had just opened a book on Tevinter Tales of Mystery and Magic when a soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Solas, do you have a moment?”

“Of course,” he replied, smoothly tucking his notes into the book and setting it aside. He stepped back from the desk and turned to meet the Spymistress as she emerged from the shadows—a rare feat, given how brightly the torches in the chamber glowed. A slight frown creased her brow, and she studiously ignored the papers he covered, no doubt having read through copies of the correspondences before they were released to their intended readers.

“I wondered if I might call upon your aid,” she said, mirroring his pose by clasping her hands behind her back. “I have a puzzle that could use your unique perspective.”

“My assistance?” he asked, wondering what sort of materials her agents might have uncovered, and why it would take precedence over her other lines of inquiry. “Have you come across another elven text you wish for me to translate?”

His question tugged a smile to the corner of her mouth. “Of a sort,” she replied.

\- - - - -

He managed to spot the Inquisitor leaving the stables with Smudge in tow, her lips set in a firm line and pace clipped as she stepped into the courtyard. The soldiers and refuges milling about quickly moved out of her way, stepping back with cries of alarm as the Inquisitor leapt onto the back of the hart once they were clear of the doorway. Smudge picked up a quick trot towards the main gates, squealing as Remli encouraged him to dash across the bridge. Solas could only imagine Dennet’s dismay if he’d seen one of his charges taken out without proper tack and saddle—given the Inquisitor’s appearance, however, it was probably just as well that the old man had returned home for a brief visit.

The barn was not unoccupied, however. Blackwall watched from the doorway, his impressive eyebrows drawn together in a mixture of concern and confusion. His face lightened a little when he saw Solas approach, and the man shrugged and sighed, sagging against the door.

“Before you ask, no, I don’t know what that was about,” he said, holding up his hands. “She wasn’t in here very long, so I am fairly certain I had nothing to do with it. Probably.” Blackwall pushed off the doorframe and followed Solas inside after taking one last look at the dust trail left by the Inquisitor’s rapid exit.

“Did she say anything?” Solas asked as they walked down the row of stalls. Solas stopped in front of his own hart, holding out his hand and sending a gentle wave of magic to the creature. Pride snuffed his hand, then pressed a velvety nose against his palm, following Solas’ hand as the stall door opened.

Blackwall stood aside, watching as Solas deftly mounted the beast without harness or tack, and sighed again. “I didn’t catch what she said, but the elven I do know and the tone in which she said it suggests it was unflattering. I did manage to catch a _‘shem’_ in there,” he replied. He turned to go back to his workbench to pick up the abandoned chisel and hammer, then paused. “Like I said, I don’t know what it was about but I’m fairly certain it wasn’t directed at me specifically. Still, she’s in a mood. Might want to give her a bit of space.”

“Mm,” Solas responded, turning the beast with a knee and guiding him out of the barn. He held the hart’s ruff and urged it to a faster trot with a gentle kick. Pride flicked his ears back, briefly, but obediently picked up the pace, and they were running by the time they came to the massive stone bridge leading out of Skyhold.

Solas could feel the anchor call to him as it always did, a low and persistent pull on his magic. He turned Pride towards the Inquisitor, letting the hart set the pace and only adjusting with minor squeezes to ensure they took the easiest path. She wasn’t moving very quickly now—apparently she simply needed to get away from the keep, but she had enough sense to stay close. It seemed as though she’d stopped, actually, as the pulse of magic continued to grow as they made their way down the mountain path.

Her object was distance, then, rather than disappearance. But how far was enough? And when would she stop running?

 

Apparently, far enough was at the bottom of the waterfall that fed the massive lake beyond the forest. Remli sat upon a fallen log, skidding stones across the lake’s surface with sharp, precise flicks of the wrist. Magic flared from the anchor as she threw, engulfing the stones with green fire as they sped along the water’s surface before slipping beneath the rippled surface.

It was Smudge who gave them away as they approached. The hart lifted his head from the patch of moss he’d been chewing and bugled to them, stamping the ground and calling a challenge to the equally impressive Pride, who snorted and ignored the other beast. Remli stopped mid-throw, hand clenching around the rock as she lowered her arm, but she didn’t turn around, no doubt already knowing it was him.

Solas dismounted, patting Pride on the rump before walking towards the log. “Vhenan?” he called, getting a response at last.

“I just needed some time away from them,” she explained, not turning around. She raised the stone again. “Sometimes they’re just so… so… AUGH!” The pebble hurtled across the lake.

“Shall I find more stones?” he asked, half in jest. She sighed but gave him a weary smile as he sat beside her. She leaned into his embrace when he raised his arm to pull her closer, and they linked fingers, the collection of pebbles abandoned.

“I forget, sometimes, that they’re human,” she said, settling against him so she could listen to the steady rhythm of his heart. “And I know that they don’t mean to be offensive or insensitive, they don’t _know_ any better, but… Augh.” She shifted again to tuck both his hands under hers, hugging them close to her chest. “They just have no tact, and they don’t even realize how much they insult me, my people, and our customs.”

“I do not profess much knowledge in the way of Dalish customs,” he said, which earned him a snort of muffled laughter, “But would speaking to a fellow non-Andrastian elf provide some comfort?” She didn’t reply immediately, and he gently squeezed her hands. “I know the feeling of isolation within a crowd.”

“It’s not _isolation_ , per se,” she replied, frowning as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I just… wish they’d asked for some input from me before deciding the ‘best’ way to handle the situation.”

“A war table operation, then?” he asked, and she nodded.

“They all came up with suggestions of how to complete the mission with so little cultural sensitivity that I was immediately reminded that I was a knife ear from the wilds in a room of humans who believe that anything not closely-humanoid is automatically an inferior creature.” She sighed, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against him. “I suppose Cullen sort-of understands, the way he goes on about marbari, maybe that’s why his ‘solution’ was the least insulting.”

Solas couldn’t stop the disbelieving laugh. “The commander rarely employs tact when brevity will suffice,” he said, and pulled her into his lap so he could better see her face. He smiled down at her, placing a gentle kiss against her forehead. “Tell me about it?”

 

And so he learned of Hawen’s desire to gift the humans of Red Crossing with a mourning halla, and the less than satisfactory suggestions of her advisers. Remli clenched her fists as she recalled Josie’s quip about dissolved marriages and a duel.

“…And none of them stopped to ask the elf, an actual, living, breathing Dalish representative what might be the best way to honor such a gift. What the significance of such an offering has, and how it should be handled!” she seethed, shaking her head.

“And it bothers you, that they did not ask?”

“It bothers me that they didn’t even _consider_ asking, and that they laughed it off as though it was the simple exchange of livestock from the elves to humans.” She hugged his hand to her chest, and he could feel the rapid beating of her heart, and the crackle of magic that shifted with her anger.

“Halla are not dumb animals to be bought, traded, or sold. They’re intelligent beings who live with the Dalish out of a mutual understanding and respect. A halla keeper does not ‘keep’ so much as interpret and care for them—if you want them to do something, you have to ask and gain their permission. They’re not pets or livestock, they’re friends, they’re _family_. Hawen is gifting one of his family members—a family member who most definitely volunteered to go— to the humans of Red Crossing in the hopes to bridge the cultural divide between elves and humans, but…” she trailed off, and he picked up her train of thought with ease.

“But the humans do not understand the subtleties of such a sacrifice, and the levity they used for such a powerful gesture lessened the symbolism to an offensive degree,” he finished. A beat. “And you do not believe that they are open-minded enough to understand the sensitivity of the situation.”

“If I take any of their suggestions, I’m no better than a slave trader, giving the humans a member of Hawen’s clan to use or abuse as they will,” she said, and scrubbed tears of frustration from her eyes. “I like them, I really do, but sometimes they make me so _angry,_ I begin to understand our dear Genetivi’s insistence that all Dalish eventually snap and go on killing sprees.” She sighed, slumping against him.

“I suppose I’m mostly just disappointed in them, because I’ve worked so hard to understand their strange customs and culture, and the moment I need them to return the favor they just… ugh.”

“Mm,” he said, thinking back to reports now hidden in his chambers, and his star agent awaiting orders on whether or not to engage with Briala’s people. He leaned his cheek against the top of her head. “Sometimes the best way to handle a situation is to deal with the problem indirectly,” he said at last.

“Take the halla into protective custody of the Inquisition? Go deliver the halla in person and threaten them with violence if the beast is harmed?” she asked, only half in jest. He laughed.

“Have Cullen’s men escort the creature without any false pretenses of surrender or politics,” he replied. “Let the creature go to the town as what it is—a gesture of goodwill to bring together two opposing families. Send the creature—but choose the men and women assigned to the duty.”

“You mean send some of our Dalish scouts along with the soldiers?” she asked, sounding intrigued.

“Dalish, or elves or even humans who are more…. _flexible_ in understanding the deeper meanings of the exchange. Perhaps someone who can stay for a time, to freely communicate between the clan and the town to allay any fears—on both sides,” he thought aloud, and she nodded, considering it.

“And place an agent in the area as a scout for the region,” she finished, a smile beginning to form. She looked up at him, raising a hand to his cheek. “Mm, I am grateful that I have one advisor whom I can trust to act in the best interest of the elves.”

He responded by leaning down to kiss her, moving his hands to draw her up out of his lap and shift her leg so that she straddled him. She let out a quiet moan and ground against him, her lips seeking out her favorite nibbling spot on his neck. He responded by moving a hand to her breast, and his lips sought the tip of her ear. She pulled back and reached up to bring him back down for a kiss, tightening her legs around his waist, and he deepened the kiss once again, running fingers through her hair.

When she leaned away to catch her breath, Remli looked far more relaxed. She might be upset about her advisors and their lack of tact or sensitivity, but they were no longer first and foremost on her mind. She grinned down at him.

“On a scale of one to ten, how painful do you think the log would be?”

“I am sure that Leliana sent agents to follow at a distance. She was concerned for you,” he replied.

“… We could give them a show…” she said, although she sounded less pleased by the idea. He gave her a quick peck, then whistled. Pride chirped in response, then ambled over to them, Smudge in tow. Solas stood in one swift movement, scooping her up in his arms and supporting her legs to hold her against him a little longer.

“Best not to press our luck,” he said, starting to pull down Smudge’s lead. “Humans tend to be sensitive about such things.” She didn’t let him go, though. As she slid down to stand in front of him, she lifted a knee to brush against his thigh.

“Orrrrr we could take the harts a go a little further into the woods, and make use of the outpost cabin,” she suggested, “Scandalize the scouts and temporarily evict them in the name of elven glory and all that.”

“Slander. I do not say that,” he insisted, but she laughed, pulling away with a final kiss and climbing up onto Smudge.

“You might not, but given how today’s been going, I might.” She grinned. “If you’re not interested in the log and the outpost is also out of the question, how about a quick stop to the war room before retiring to my chambers? Want to shout things in elvish while we have some fun?”

“I hardly think that would be an appropriate response to the situation,” he chided, although he smiled as they turned back towards the keep. “You cannot hold their Human Condition against them, but you _can_ remind them that you do not suffer from such a thing.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Completely forgot to add this, but Smudge is the Avvar hart, and Pride is the Pride of Arlathan hart (later renamed Solas after the Egg disappears).


End file.
